The Bathrobe Brigade
by Meatball Surgeons
Summary: Post-Henry/pre-Sherman: Shortly after Henry Blake's death, Hawkeye comes up with a plan that both annoys Frank Burns and lifts the spirits of the grieving camp.


The Bathrobe Brigade

Author's note and disclaimer: You guys know the drill; I don't claim to own the copyrighted characters of MASH. If I did, I sure wouldn't be nibbling off my nails every time I notice the rising food prices! Good thing I like Ramen Noodles. LOL After my last fic, I thought it would be good to have one that tickles the ole funny bone. I hope you enjoy it!

Two days had passed since Lieutenant Colonel Henry B. Blake had departed from the 4077th in hopes of reuniting with his wife and children. When the horrible news of the discharged officer's death circulated through the camp, the darkest shroud of grief blocked out any rays of sunshine. Since the war cared nothing about men's or women's grief and carried on despite Henry's death, casualties continued to fill the operating room.

It was 0:15 when the medical staff finally returned to their tents, and morning assembly was the last thing any of them wanted to give a second thought. Unfortunately, acting commanding officer, Major Frank Burns, felt that dispensing with assembly once during the period of mourning was enough; however, he was the only one who held this opinion. Even staunchly military minded Major Margaret Houlihan needed more time to deal with the loss before she felt life could return to normal. Captains Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce and John **Francis Xavier **"Trapper" McIntyre dragged their feet along the ground of the compound, grousing about the senior officer with whom they would never get along.

"Can you believe that jerk!" Trapper complained loudly, not caring who would hear him. "We're all still reeling from Henry's death, and Major Pain in the Butt wants to just forget about him and expect us to play like we're perfect little soldiers!"

"Maybe we should change his nickname from Ferret Face to Slave Driver," Hawkeye commented dryly, flinging the door to the Swamp wide open and stomping over to his cot.

"Yeah, and I thought President Lincoln put an end to slavery eighty some odd years ago, "Trapper retorted as he perched on his bunk. "Gimme a double, will ya, Hawk?"

"Apparently Simon Legree had nothing on Frank Burns." The chief surgeon reached for the still and helped himself to a bathtub martini before passing a double to his tent mate.

"Maybe we should protest by showin' up to assembly in chains," the blond suggested before audibly slurping from his glass.

"Nah, no good, Trap. He'd love that too much." Suddenly the wheels started turning in the midnight haired captain's head. "Hey! I just got this great idea how to annoy the snot out of Major Anal Retentive…" With that, he set his martini glass down and whispered his objective into his buddy's ear. "I'll talk to the enlisted men, and you get things set up in his tent before running it by the officers."

"Ya got it," The Bostonian grinned broadly before he leaped up with a paper clip in hand and bent it in such a fashion so he could work open Frank's foot locker. "This is gonna be great!" he beamed after stepping out into the fresh air.

"We'll give Ferret Face an assembly he'll never forget!" Hawk announced before he and Trapper went their separate ways and put the plan into action.

The rising sun ushered in a new morning, and Frank Burns grudgingly awoke on his own, not having been roused by his company clerk as he expected. He flung back his covers and sprang from his bunk, intent on getting ready for his shower. Low and behold, he made the astonishing discovery that all of his uniforms and civilian clothes were gone! All that he had left was one pair of boxers and his plain brown bathrobe. Suspecting his former roommates of being behind the disappearing garments he stomped over to the Swamp and kicked open the door. The major shot penetrating stares at the bunks where his American enemies lay sleeping.

"All right, you degenerates, where the hell are my uniforms!" he barked loudly, so as to rudely yank his roommates out of their peaceful slumber.

"Frank, we didn't leave a wake up shriek," Hawkeye croaked as he rolled onto his back, failing to open his ocean blue eyes.

"My uniforms are gone, mister, and I'm giving you to the count of five to tell me what you did with them! One … two... Three …"

"I'm impressed, Frank; ya made it all the way up to three." Trapper interrupted, slowly sitting up and rubbing the sleepy sand from his hazel eyes.

"Very funny, bub. My uniforms are missing, and I expect them back right this minute!"

"Frank, I dunno why you think we have 'em," Hawk remarked as he tossed aside his covers and stumbled out of bed.

"Doncha remember, Frank, they took everything to the laundry last night," Trap bluffed with a yawn.

"My fatigues are gone, and so is my dress uniform!" Frank snapped.

"Even you can run out of clean clothes," Dr. McIntyre answered back as he gathered his shower supplies and exited the tent.

"That might explain my fatigues, but not my Class A's." Frank clipped.

"Who says they didn't take 'em into Seoul to be dry cleaned?" was the comeback Hawkeye gave before snatching up his own bundle of shower supplies and following his best friend to the shower tent. Now that they had been so brusquely snatched out of their restful state, they might as well have a nice hot shower.

"Well, Pierce, I'll have you know that by the time I get back from my shower, I will expect you and McIntyre to have returned my uniforms. If you don't, you two will be in serious trouble!"

"Don't tell me, Frank; tell the people who work in the laundry department!" Hawk called back before slipping out of Frank's ear shot.

Much to Frank's chagrin, his uniforms didn't reappear after his shower, and he was stuck wearing his under shorts and robe. Flaming with anger, he stormed into the Swamp to find it empty.

"Major Burns," Corporal Radar O'Reilly timidly addressed the temporary commander, also dressed in nothing but his blue and white striped bathrobe and some boxers. his unwashed glasses resting on his nose.

"Corporal, what the hell are you wearing?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is the only clean thing I have, and I figured you'd want me to wear something clean for assembly, but if you don't like it, I can change into a dirty uniform, which I don't have because the laundry took 'em all away last night."

"Awww, Nertz, just forget it and call the assembly; we're late already!"

Within minutes, Radar stood at the parade ground and sounded the sour notes from his bugle, calling the rest of the camp to morning assembly. Before he could get a good look at the personnel who were gathering around him, Frank loudly blew his whistle and bellowed, "Company, fall in on the double! Let's go! Move it you slackers! Move it! Move it! Move it!" In a moment, the patter of two hundred pairs of feet ceased, and the annoying commander blew his whistle once more! "Company, ten hut!" Nothing could prepare him for the sight he beheld when he shielded his eyes from the rising sun and caught sight of the ornate, multi-hued gathering that stood at attention before him! "What the hell is this!"

The entire camp stood at assembly with the world's biggest grins on their faces! They had all pulled together in order to set up the queen mother of practical jokes on their not so beloved commanding officer. They were all clad in their bathrobes, and it had nothing to do with the laundry department taking every set of fatigues in camp! The men only wore their boxers underneath the robes, while the women sported T-shirts and gym shorts under theirs. The laughter that rang out from the bathrobe brigade more than made up for Frank's insisting on holding assembly so soon after Henry Blake's death.

"Hardy-harr-harr, you all think you're so funny!" Frank barked angrily, for he felt that his camp had brought contempt to a whole new low. "I'll have you know that everyone of you will be put on report and will be severely disciplined for showing such disrespect to the United States Army!"

Suddenly, the tooting of a jeep could be heard in the distance, and it took only a minute or two for the vehicle to arrive in the parade yard. When the squeaky breaks signaled that the transport had stopped, General Barker stepped out and carefully studied the colorful rainbow of robes on the personnel who should have been in uniform.

"Major, what is the meaning of this?" he growled.

"General Barker, I can assure you that I am not responsible for this gross insubordination!" The weak featured man wasted no time in defending himself. "These yo-yos might have conspired against me and come up with this bathrobe caper; however, I was a victim! My uniforms were stolen from me!"

"If you're not responsible for this, then who is?" the general demanded evenly as he stroked his mustache and fixed a steely gaze on the acting head honcho.

"Pierce, McIntyre! Front and center! The rest of you are dismissed!" Burns yelled his face flushing beat root red. When it was only he, Hawkeye, Trapper, and General Barker, he hissed, "Now which one of you cretins came up with this ridiculous stunt. One of you has to be the perpetrator while the other has to be the accomplice. If the guilty party doesn't speak up, then both of you will be appropriately punished."

Realizing that the camp couldn't afford to lose its two best surgeons, Hawkeye bravely stepped forward with his wrists outstretched as if he expected to be cuffed at a second's notice. "Take me away, sir, I'm all yours.

"Let's go, Captain," the general snarled, seizing his prisoner by the arm and towing him to the CO's office.

As if it were a movie whose scenes played out in slow motion, time dragged by, causing conflicting reactions in Burns and McIntyre. While Trapper dug his teeth into his lower lip and stood anxiously waiting to see what was to become of his best buddy, Frank beamed from ear to ear and reveled in the thought of his nemesis being fitted for a ball and chain at the nearest penal camp.

"How couldja just let 'im take Hawk away like that; are you outta your mind, Frank?" Trap felt he had a right to know why things had turned out the way they did.

""Pierce instigated this whole thing; now he made his bed and has to lie in it," the chinless doctor frostily retorted.

At that moment, Hawkeye and General Barker reappeared in the parade yard; the higher ranking officer's face being one of great satisfaction while the younger man grinned like a Cheshire cat!

"Hawk, you look pretty happy for someone who's gonna spend the rest of his life makin' big rocks into little rocks while shackled to a double sized bowling ball," Trapper observed with a bemused expression coloring his features.

"That's because I've just been given a week's R and R," the fellow in the red robe gloated in order to peeve off the major who wanted so desperately to see him shipped off to a detention camp. He waved his pass in Frank's face before tucking it into his pocket.

"Congrats, Hawk!" the relieved Captain McIntyre laughed with a sparkle in his eyes.

"WHAT! You gave this rebel a week's R and R for pulling off a practical joke and showing such blatant disrespect to the US Army?"

"Major, this young man has managed to boost the morale of this entire camp during a time when grief for Colonel Blake's loss was still running strong. He told me how he had been trying to lift everyone' spirits ever since we lost good ole Colonel Blake, may he rest in peace, and that's no easy job as you should know."

"Sir, I…" A flustered Frank failed to find the words to say to his superior.

"Captain Pierce, pack your bag; your plane to Tokyo leaves at 09:00," the highest ranking officer ordered with a broad smile as he shook Hawk's hand.

"With pleasure, sir," Hawkeye beamed before throwing an awkward and improper salute the general's way and disappearing to his tent in preparation for his well deserved mini-vacation. He had places to see and Geishas to meet.


End file.
